


Out With The Old

by Chaos_Elemental



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Marlene being cool (as always), New Years, Partying, Pirates, Reminiscing, Sea Shanty II, copious amounts of rum, it's been a long year for The Gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Elemental/pseuds/Chaos_Elemental
Summary: It's been a long, crazy year, and Bonnie and her adventurer friends are seeing it out with a bang.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Out With The Old

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Limanya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limanya/gifts).



> A Secret Santa gift for the lovely [ Limanya | meteor | i love verac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limanya/pseuds/Limanya) ! Happy new year, folks - let's make 2021 better. 
> 
> Takes place the Wintumber after Bonnie becomes the World Guardian.

“C’mooooon, quit being such a Saradominist stick in the mud!”

Orfeo eyed the pirate suspiciously. She had that glint in her eye that usually preceded shenaniganery — he’d seen it right before several incidences that the phrase “more than one could chew” could be readily applied to. 

Marlene grinned. “It’ll be  _ fun. _ You’ve been to my house before! You practically  _ live _ at that damn lectern!”

Orfeo blinked. “The last time you said ‘It’ll be fun,’ we ended up stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere, fighting a jungle demon and sneaking around ninja monkeys.”

“There aren’t any ninja monkeys on Mos Le’Harmless.”

“It’s not the location, Marlene, it’s the  _ purpose, _ ” he said. “New Year’s is one thing. But a Zamorakian New Year’s…?”

“Revelry. Hedonism. Good food and drinks!” she crowed. “Oh, don’t give me that look. We’re not going to sacrifice children to demons or any bilge like that. It’s just a party.”

“I heard the ‘hedonism’ bit!”

Marlene sighed, glancing over to the bartender down the way. He was polishing a glass — or at least, attempting to, as his fingers kept passing through it and the ghostly rag in his hand. 

“Another Funky Phantom!” she called. The bartender nodded, managing, with great effort, to lift the mug over to the keg at the back, fill it, and set it down on the table. He then attempted to slide it over to Marlene — 

And his hand passed through. 

“Wooo’oo wooo!” the ghost howled. Orfeo lacked the equipment to understand him, though the Saradominist in him sensed the use of profanity. 

Marlene chuckled. “Don’t get your sheets in a twist, Raol,” she said, taking the glass. “Now, where was I?”

“Hedonism,” Orfeo said flatly. 

“Ah, that! I was thinking we could buy a bunch of afros —”

“Why are we  _ here _ , even?” Orfeo said, shifting uneasily in his barstool. He fiddled with the holy symbol around his neck, perhaps moreso than his usual nervous tic. The feral vampyres off in the woods, the howls of which occasionally floated through the ruined walls of the bar, didn’t help. 

He gestured to the building. “There’s  _ slime _ dripping down on everything,” he said. “And does the beer even taste good?”

“It’s more spirits than beer,” Marlene said, knocking back her glass. “And it’s decent stuff! Cold, crisp, doesn’t get you hungover…”

“That’s because it’s ghost beer, Marlene.”

“I support the economy where it counts,” she said sensibly. “In any case, Bill said he’d give us a lift to the island, and  _ you _ were the one who wanted to go to Morytania in the first place!”

“I had  _ business — _ ”

“And I’m sure the Barrows brothers enjoyed the crate of Saradominist symbols,” Marlene interrupted. “But what were your plans after that? New Year’s in Canifis? It’d be nothing but meat and werewolf fur all over ya. I suppose Mazchna might be fun to cavort with —”

“I was hoping to see Bonnie!” Orfeo snapped. “I haven’t heard from her in  _ weeks _ , none of my contact spells will get through. I don’t even know if she’s in Ardougne at the moment… Saradomin’s beard, I don’t even know if she’s on this plane of existence!”

Marlene’s expression softened. “I’m sure she’s alright,” she said gently. “She’s the World Guardian, after all. You could send her to Frenesake and she’d just come back angrier.”

Orfeo didn’t reply, simply staring at the bar table, sticky with spilt drinks and gods-knew-what-else. He released a sigh, his fingers curling into themselves. 

“You haven’t heard from Frances either, have you?” he said, his voice low. Marlene shook her head. 

“I’m sure they’ll turn up,” she said, her voice betraying no waver. “They’re both strong adventurers, kid. Worrying about them isn’t going to help them any — and, even if it did, they wouldn’t need it.”

She cracked a smile. “And nor would spending New Year’s like a monk on Entrana. I don’t think either of them would want to see you miserable like this. At the very least, spend it with me. I’ll show you a good time —”

She saw his expression. “ — with a minimal amount of hedonism as possible. While still making it a good time, which I figure will be a bit of an experiment in contradiction, but so has this entire damn year. What do you say?”

Orfeo sighed. “Alright…”

“Excellent!” She grinned, downing the rest of her drink. “Trust me, kid. This will be a night to  _ remember. _ ”

“Didn’t you say that right before that incident that got us banned from Keldagrim for life?”

“Maybe.” Her eye glinted. “I promise nothing. Except maybe a nice surprise or two…”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Quiet, you.” She turned to the ghost at the counter. “Bartender? Our check, please. Oh, and a pigeon. To go.”

* * *

Bonnie flopped back on the inn’s bed, groaning. “How do these damn letters even  _ find _ us?” she said, her voice muffled by a linen-sheeted pillow.

Frances flipped through the pile of envelopes. “Postie Pete is exceptionally competent,” she said, somewhat resignedly. “Considering he’s nothing but a skull, I’d say he carries the whole of the RPDT on his metaphorical back…”

“Can he take a break for the holidays?” Bonnie whined. “You’d think, if anything, we’d have a break from all the nonsense.”

Frances glanced out of the window of their shared room. Taverley bustled below, unknowing of the World Guardian currently residing in the top floor of the Pick and The Lute. They could have  _ that _ peace, at least, even if their mail granted them no respite. 

The envelopes Fran held were heavy with gilded edges and expensive paper, lavishly calligraphered, and some even scented with perfume. They all contained menus for feasts and wine tables and banquets alike; and they all were addressed, invariably, to the same, accursed title. 

Bonnie groaned again. “What’s the damage?”

“Let’s see.” Frances picked a missive at random. “One from Lumbridge, the Duke himself signed it…” 

“No thanks. I’m not about to spend my New Year’s eve saving a bunch of emissaries from a food-based cook  _ again. _ ”

“Noted.” Frances tossed the envelope in the bin. “Falador?”

“Maaaybe.” She sat up, tapping her chin. “Will Saradomin be there?”

Frances read further, and then made a face. “Unfortunately.”

“Toss it.”

Frances complied. “Right, we have Ardougne… but we’ve  _ always _ done Ardougne, and there are still nobles there with beef on you… Varrock…?”

“I’m not sitting through Ellamaria changing her outfits six times in one meal again.”

“Good point.” She tossed a bundle of letters into the bin, sifting through the pile, and stopping at a crudely-carved hunk of slate. “Hmm… Trollheim?”

Bonnie blinked. “How edible do you think troll food  _ is? _ ”

Frances threw the stone slab to the side. “It seems our options are rather limited.”

“Is there  _ any _ place in Gielinor,” Bonnie said, “where we can get a drink, a good meal, and  _ not _ have a thousand and a half emissaries bowing and scraping at me at every other turn?”

“You  _ do _ get used to it, after a while,” Frances said, sitting next to her on the bed. “I mean, figuring out the salad forks is always tricky, and you have to keep in mind the right way to curtsey to a duke —”

“I don’t want any of that!” Bonnie said. “I don’t care if it’s catered by the finest chefs. I’d like to go to  _ one _ party where everyone there doesn’t turn their head and call me the World Guardian!”

She more spat the last words than said it, and Fran gave her a sympathetic smile. 

“I’m sure it’ll be better next year, once things die down a bit more,” Frances said. “For this year, we can just lay low. Order Gianne’s and take it easy. Nobody knows we’re here.”

Bonnie sighed. “You have a point,” she said. “I suppose we could drop in on mum, but I honestly don’t want any more attention on her than she already has…”

Fran was about to reply, but she was interrupted, suddenly, by the sound of flapping at the window, punctuated by the sound of frantic squawks.

Bonnie leapt up from the bed, racing to the window. “Havoc!” she cried, spying the hawk’s dappled plumage through the glass. She opened the casement eagerly, allowing the bird to swoosh in — and sending a handful of down fluttering onto the floor. 

“Did you catch your dinner?” she cooed, throwing a coat over her arm and holding it out. With a  _ thud _ , Havoc deposited the unfortunate creature he’d been clutching onto the floor, landing on Bonnie’s waiting forearm. 

Fran picked the bundle of feathers up. “It’s still alive,” she said, inspecting the pigeon with a hint of amazement. “Look, it’s got something tied to its leg…”

“Are you intercepting my mail now?” Bonnie said, looking to the hawk. “What a good little boy you are!”

Frances freed the capsule from the pigeon’s leg. As soon as she did, the bird seemed to come to its senses. With a frantic screech, it leapt free of her grip, scrabbling out the window and off to parts unknown. 

“What’s it say?” Bonnie said, pulling a bit of dried rabbit jerky from her pocket and feeding it to the hawk. “A request for assistance? Another bloody invitation?”

Fran unfolded the little slip of paper, reading over it. As she did, a grin slowly grew on her face. 

“It’s an invite,” she said. “But I think it’s one you’ll like.”

* * *

Orfeo watched gloomily as Marlene began pulling tankards from the shelves. The damp heat of Mos Le’Harmless was beginning to settle into his clothing, leaving him feeling bothered and unreasonably sticky. 

“How many people are we expecting?” he said, mentally taking count of the number of glasses she took out. 

“Oh, you can’t really put a number on this sort of thing,” Marlene said, slamming a round of tankards on the table. “People come and go, ya know? Parties round here can last for  _ days, _ there was one a couple of years ago that technically lasted a week because they couldn’t get old Seagull Joe out of the rum barrel…”

There was a knock on the door. “Speak of Zamorak!” Marlene said, heading to it. “That’ll probably be the drinks shipment…”

“Drinks shipment?” Orfeo said. Marlene opened the door, exchanged brief words with the person behind it, and then stepped outside — returned a moment later, this time rolling two enormous barrels inside. 

“Isn’t a Mos Le’Harmless Party without the stuff!” she said. “Got it shipped special from Braindeath Island. We won’t even need to wash the tankards when we’re through!”

“It’s alcoholic enough to clean them?”

“No, they usually just melt at the end of the night.” Marlene hauled one of the kegs upright. “There, that’s refreshments taken care of… and I’m having a boar and a couple of oomlies being shipped up from Brimhaven, that’ll be a treat over the fire…”

“Is this what you do every year?” Orfeo asked bewilderedly. 

“This?” Marlene gestured to the house, now festooned in scarlet garlands, at large. “Not  _ exactly. _ Spent a good deal of new year’s on a boat in the middle of nowhere, using the cannons for noisemakers when midnight came. Had to ration the rum then, that was a damn pity…”

She paused. “But it’s got the same idea. Make a big lot of noise, drink the old year away, sing lots of songs and engage in hed — er, party games and such.”

She grinned. “My mum said in the old days, they used to sacrifice an animal — whet the new year with blood and good luck and such. But they don’t really do that much now.”

Orfeo nodded, a little nervously. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best…”

“What of you, church-boy? Do you curl up in your bed like a little mouse when the new year comes round?”

Orfeo gave her an odd look. “Of course not! In the abbey, we’d spend the night praying. We’d sing hymns to scare off the demons — the metaphorical ones, mind you, it was kind of a traditional thing — and the Abbess would give the annual sermon about Elspeth and her deeds in the God Wars.”

He tapped his foot. “And don’t think that’s the  _ only _ way I’ve done it. When I was in the Mage’s Training Arena, they’d set off firework spells, big enough that all of Al Kharid could see it. And in Rellekka, it was all drinking and feasting and carousing. The Lunar Isle mages would have their own rituals, but I didn’t get to see much of them…”

“That settles it, then,” Marlene said, slapping Orfeo’s back. “Next year, we’re having a Fremennik celebration.”

He sighed. “If I survive this one.”

“I think you will,” the pirate said, winking.

The afternoon stretched on. The appointed boar and giant jungle birds arrived, and Orfeo found himself caught up in preparing them for roasting; even then, he couldn’t shake the sense of unease that settled in between his shoulders. 

_ She’s hiding something _ , he thought, glancing over to Marlene now and again. Her movements, and expression, betrayed no ulterior motive, but something still felt  _ off _ .

He sighed.  _ Just grin and bear it. It’ll be one night with a bunch of crazy pirates. Just avoid the rum, keep your head low, and you’ll make it out in one piece. _

He glanced over to his companion once more.  _ And this is  _ Marlene  _ here. She might be crazy, but she wouldn’t do anything that would put you in danger you couldn’t handle. _

His thoughts flashed back to a certain jungle demon.  _ Would she? _

It was when dark began to truly hit that another knock on the door came. This wasn’t any normal knock: It was thunderous, threatening to dislodge the bamboo door from its frame, and Orfeo couldn’t help but jump.

“Was that  _ really _ necessary, Fran?” a familiar, muffled voice floated through the walls. “We’re here for a visit, not an invasion!”

“Marlene probably has pirates knocking down her door every other day,” a petulant voice replied. “And gran always said that if you can’t knock proper like a lady of high standing, then there’s no point to knocking at all!”

Orfeo didn’t wait. He jumped out of his seat, practicality flying across the room, and wrenching the door open. 

“Frances!” he cried, grinning wider than he had in weeks. “Bonnie!” 

Before he could say another further, he felt himself being grabbed in a rib-crushing hug. 

“How’s our favourite little Saradominist?” Fran teased, tousling his hair. “Are you getting into bar fights? Fighting cultists? Your hair’s gotten longer, I swear, you’re going to have a longer mane than mine…”

“I’m good!” Orfeo squeaked, with what air he could catch. “I haven’t been in any fights, despite Marlene’s best efforts….”

“Ha!” Fran released him, giving his head one final ruffle. “Speaking of which…”

Her gaze flicked over to Marlene, who was leaning against one of the walls, grinning wickedly. 

“Hey,” the pirate said, waving. “Long time no see.”

Fran didn’t reply, instead marching over and grabbing the pirate in a ferocious kiss, which Marlene happily reciprocated. 

Orfeo left the two to each other and turned over to Bonnie, who still remained in the doorframe. She smiled, a little weakly. 

“You’re looking well,” she said. “Adventuring really does suit you, you know.”

“Yeah,” he said, returning the smile. “And you’re looking…?”

“Tired?”

“....yes.”

“It’s been a  _ year, _ ” she said, a sigh creeping into her voice. “But, well, it’s nearly over…”

She didn’t complete her sentence, since it was now Orefeo’s turn to grab her in a hug. While not as rib-crunching as Fran’s had been, it was still tight, still comforting. 

“It’s good to see you, Bonnie,” he said. 

_ Bonnie, _ she thought. How long had she heard a voice other than Fran’s say that name? Bonnie. Not ‘World Guardian.’ Not ‘Adventurer.’ Just… Bonnie. 

Yeah. That’s who she was. Maybe she  _ did _ need reminding. 

She grinned, returning the hug, tighter than before. “It’s good to see you too, Orfie.”

* * *

The night wore on. Between Marlene, Fran, and Bonnie, they made good progress on the food and drinks. The implied parade of piratical revellers failed to make an appearance, and Orfeo had a sneaking suspicion Marlene had ordered the two barrels of rum merely to spook him. 

It was, perhaps, a little  _ too _ quiet for Marlene’s usual rambunctious tastes, though Bonnie’s more subdued demeanour told him that this was, perhaps, on purpose. 

This may, in hindsight, have caused him to…  _ compensate _ in certain areas. 

He tried not to think too hard about what exactly was contained in Braindeath Island rum. This got easier the more he drank it, since consumption of Braindeath Island rum wasn’t particularly conducive to critical thought. Or any thought at all, really. 

This is why, during a lull in the conversation (mostly consisting of Marlene recounting her tales at the high seas, and Fran attempting to one-up her with adventuring stories) he climbed up on the table, pulled his lyre from his bag, and strummed a drunken chord. 

“Ladies and… ladiesh,” he slurred. “If I may draw your attenshin’ to the table in the middle of the room…”

Marlene elbowed Bonnie, grinning. “Ya think he’s gonna sing some Saradominist ditty?”

Bonnie returned the smile. “Oh, wait and see!”

Orfeo cleared his throat. “ little song ‘fer the occasion…  _ Helan Går _ !”

He began. “Helan går!

Sjung hopp faderallan lallan lej….

Helan går! 

Sjung hopp faderallan lej

Och den som inte helan tar!

Han heller inte halvan får…”

He continued, only slightly off-key, and Marlene’s eyes widened. “Rellekkan stuff!" she breathed. "What does it translate to?”

Bonnie tapped her chin. “Roughly? ‘If you don’t drink your drinks now, then you won’t get anything later.’”

“Ha! I can drink to that!” Marlene roared, finishing off her glass. “Go at it, kid, I’m rooting you on!”

Orfeo continued, becoming louder and more raucous with every line. Bonnie tapped along, cheering at the moments that were appropriate, though something still distracted her. 

By Orfeo’s third rendition, she noticed that Fran was absent. 

Excusing herself, she got up out of her chair, leaving Orfeo to his song and Marlene to chant along with butchered lyrics. On a hunch, she ducked out the back door, grateful for the cool night air that prickled on her skin. 

Fran was on the roof, looking out to sea. It was a clear night, and one could distantly see the mainland on the horizon where it blotted out the stars.

Wordlessly, Bonnie joined her, scrambling up the palm thatch roof with ease. The two sat in silence with one another, Orfeo’s singing drifting up faintly into the night air. 

And then:

“Percy  _ loved _ New Year’s,” Fran said, her usually boisterous voice quiet. “When it was just me and the family, he used to get leave from Yanille and spend the week between then and Christmas…”

She let out a little laugh, quiet in the backdrop of the night. “He’d pulled crackers, and he’d  _ always _ insist on keeping the stupid paper hat. Which is clever of him, I suppose…”

Bonnie chuckled. “Dad was the same way. He’d wear it around the house all night, pretending he was the Duke and giving ‘Royal Orders.’ I’d laugh so hard I’d fall over, and he’d scold me for ‘impugning the honor of the kingdom.’”

She smiled. “Every new year’s…”

_ I wonder if he’d know what to do _ , she thought, fiddling with her pouch.  _ If I told him about the whole World Guardian thing… _

She sighed. “It’s been a  _ year, _ hasn’t it?”

“You said it,” Fran replied. “For the both of us, I think.”

They sat in silence for a little longer. Then, without a word, Fran stood up, drink in her hand, and tipped half of it out onto the grass below. 

Smoke billowed from the burning vegetation, and Fran released a sigh. “This one’s for you, Perce,” she said. “I’ll make next year a lot less shitty than this one. Promise you that.”

Bonnie stood up next to her, holding her own unfinished rum. She, too, poured it over the side, perhaps a little more generously — perhaps out of respect. Perhaps out a desire to not have to finish it. Probably a bit of both.

_ I’ll do right by you, dad, _ she thought, watching the jungle grass brown and shrivel beneath her.  _ Even if the world has gone to hell.  _

* * *

Midnight was approaching. Fran and Bonnie were now back inside, the former cheerfully arm-wrestling with Marlene in the corner, and the latter patting Orfeo on the shoulder as he clutched an ice-pack to his head. 

“It really was quite impressive, that leap,” she said reassuringly. “But I still don’t know why you were trying to crowd-surf with only three people in the room.”

“Looked like there were a lot more of you…” Orfeo mumbled. “Always worked in Rellekka…”

Bonnie smiled. “Nothing a Saradomin brew and some snapegrass can’t fix.”

“Hm.” He shifted the ice pack, wincing a little as he did so. “Do you have any new year’s resolutions, by the way?”

“Me?” She shrugged. “Um… try not to let the world get blown up by gods, I suppose.”

“That’s as good a goal as any.”

“You?”

He looked to the side, his expression darkening. “Find out what happened to my parents,” he said, quietly. “It won’t be easy…”

“I’ll help you.” She covered his hand with hers, squeezing tightly. “You don’t have to go it alone.”

Orfeo’s eyes widened. “But… don’t you have… you know,  _ duties? _ ”

“Nothing,” Bonnie said, “that would be more important than helping a friend.”

Outside, in the bars and shacks and buildings of Mos Le’Harmless a hoard of piratical voices suddenly rose to a collective roar, chanting all at once. 

Marlene stood up. “They’re counting!” she shouted. “Midnight’s nearly on us…”

It was ragged, but discernible.  _ Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… _

Marlene joined in, as did Frances. Orfeo quietly muttered along, though even that didn’t hide the excitement in his voice. 

Bonnie, however, remained silent. Instead, she closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her, savoring the last seconds and the sensation of watching the year die. 

_ Five…. Four… _

The world could go to hell. The rum could smoke in the grass and she could get a thousand letters and known as ‘The World Guardian’ instead of Bonnie for the rest of her life. 

_ Three… Two… _

But that didn’t matter. 

_ One! _

She was here. And so were Fran and Marlene and Orfeo, and Havoc eating a piece of boar in the rafters, and everything else could fade to obscurity. 

“Happy New Year!”

Bonnie smiled.  _ And if it isn’t, _ she thought,  _ I’ll make it one.  _

**Author's Note:**

>  _Helan Går_ is more Swedish than Viking, but it is an excellent drinking song nonetheless. 
> 
> If you liked this story, please check out meteor's series, [Bonnie's Song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611098/chapters/59453977)!


End file.
